"I'll love doing this piece," she told Quent as they left the house. "There's been some feeling against the Chinese and I'd like to make Mr. Forrest's readers realize how wonderful they are. That's one of the exciting things about writing—that you can actually influence people with what you write."
"I do believe you're turning crusader," Quent said. But for once he wasn't laughing and she didn't mind.
Now, as they waited for the homeward-bound car, Quent relaxed and talked about his father's insurance business.
"To think I used to think it was dull and stodgy!" he said. "I'm finding out that it's not just figures on a sheet of paper—it's human beings, and all their mixed-up problems. You know something, Melora —I've recently found out that I like people."
"I'd never have guessed it," she said, "by the way you've been snapping at me for the last few weeks."
"That's a woman for you. Always switching to the personal. I said 'people.' That doesn't include you. You're just one girl."
"Meaning you like people, but you don't like this one girl?"
He answered her almost roughly. "Maybe I like her too much. Maybe that's what makes me mad every time I look at her."
"But why should you be mad when you look at me? I don't understand."
"Tony," he said shortly. "Isn't that reason enough?"
This was more puzzling than ever. "But it was you who told him about our engagement not being real. It was you who—"
"I tried to hold out. I did my best that day in the park when I got you to keep on wearing my ring. But in the end I had to see the way things were. I had to do what you wanted me to—which was to get out of the picture."
Their car was coming, but he turned his back on it.
"Let it go. We can't talk if we get aboard. Now that we're launched on this subject I think I might as well finish. When I'm through you probably won't want to speak to me again, but I'm going to have my say."
The car clattered on its way. The street was empty and quiet except for the hum of the cables.
"What I want to say concerns Tony," he went on. "And I know how it will make me look. But I don't care, just so long as you listen to reason."
"Well, don't start shouting," Melora said. "I'm right here and I won't run away."
He flushed and lowered his voice. "I've known Tony for a long time and I know just what you mean to him. You mean Nob Hill and all it stands for. Things that are important to Tony. You mean someone to give him the self-confidence he lacks unless there is an audience—applause. Applause from you means a lot to him because of your background. This isn't something he thinks about. It's probably true without his knowing it."
Indignation began to rise in her. "You don't understand him at all if you can talk like that! For one thing, he's the most self-confident person I've ever met."
"So long as there's someone around to admire him and build him up, he is. But have you ever tried criticizing him?"
"There's never been any reason to. And I don't think you're fair—"
"I don't care whether I am or not. Look, Melora, Tony would be fine if he could just learn to believe in himself, to like himself. But it will always take someone else to give him this one thing he needs most. And I doubt that one person could do it forever."
"Well!" said Melora, really angry now and ready to defend Tony to her last breath. Having doubts herself was one thing, but when Quent attacked she could not endure it.
He went on however before she could speak. "I told you what you'd think of me. But I had to have my say. Now maybe I can stop being a grouch every time I look at you because I know somebody ought to tell you the truth and keep you from doing something foolish."
"I can't say I thank you," Melora said sharply. "And besides—I'm not Nob Hill."
"No, but you stand for what Tony thinks it stands for. Just as I did when he first knew me. Never mind, have your words. I'll put you on the next car and let you go. I'm sure you don't want my company just now and I've thought of another errand I can do in this neighborhood."
She was glad enough to get on the car alone. It had begun to drizzle again and she went inside to keep dry. The ride home was no fun at all. Quent had spoiled everything. All she wanted was to get home to the seclusion of her own room where she could be good and mad in private.
Once there, she paced up and down mumbling angrily. Quent's outburst was completely unjust. He didn't really know what Tony was like, and she couldn't imagine what had got into him. The queer part of it was that in spite of how angry she was, here was a twinge of hurt because Quent had looked at her with such distaste as if he thought her merely foolish.
In the days that followed she and Quent were polite to each other, but that was all. She was glad to have her writing to throw herself into. She had found abundant material for her piece and there were more people to see than she needed. She rewrote the article three times before she dared send it to Mr. Forest. Again it was returned, but only for revision, he was pleased with her industry and the way she had followed his suggestions, developing the idea even further on her own initiative. Editors, he said, liked writers who could pick up an assignment and carry it out satisfactorily.
A check came after the fourth revision and her success seemed more of a triumph than it had the first time, since she had really worked to prove her ability. The nicest part about it was that now she would have spending money for Christmas.
Her father was trying to save toward the building of a new house that would be smaller than this one and would suit them better. The insurance money alone wouldn't be enough. They had lost too much. It looked now as though Mr. Seymour might rent the Bonner place from Gran and bring his wife and daughter home as soon as they could occupy it. So Papa wanted to get the building launched when he came home at Christmas time. Consequently they were not planning an elaborate Christmas.
Nevertheless, the holidays promised to be exciting. Mama was talking about giving a modest supper party on New Year's Eve. She felt they ought to be a part of the celebrations that would be held everywhere to greet 1907. "Oh-six" had had its terrors and triumphs, but now there was a sort of momentum which everyone in San Francisco could feel. A building up all through November and December because of the record rebirth of a city which would be climaxed on the eve of the new year.
Adding to the excitement for Melora was a lively letter from Tony. The thing he had hoped for was really going to happen. His company was to open in a rebuilt theater on Market Street during the week between Christmas and New Year's. Too bad he couldn't be home for Christmas, but of course he and Melora would celebrate New Year's Eve together.
It was even possible, he wrote, that the new year would bring an unexpected possibility for earning his way. Not a very important one, but something he might fit into his spare time. Nickelodeons were springing up all over the country and there were actors needed for the pictures which made up this new form of entertainment. So far most of these were produced in New York and Chicago, but Mae Wentworth, the actress whom he had mentioned before, said she'd heard of a company that wanted to start up right here in California. She herself hoped to play in one of their productions and she thought she might get him a chance too.
Melora was a little concerned over this plan. The nickelodeon was a cheap, not very dignified form of entertainment. Those flickering pictures would probably never become really important. But of course it was to Tony's credit that he wanted to try in every possible way to earn and to promote his own future.
She read the impersonal parts of the letter aloud to Cora, who always wanted—a little wistfully—to hear about Tony. Cora's reaction surprised her. Her sister pounced at once on the name "Mae Wentworth."
"Who's she?" Cora demanded. "Has he ever mentioned her before?"
"Of course he has," Melora said. "He has told me something about everyone in the company. I do believe you're more jealous than I am."
"I'm sure I am," said Cora tartly. "If I were you I'd keep an eye on his clever l
ittle actress."
Melora sighed as she put the letter away. She'd hoped that by this time Cora would have recovered from her notions about Tony. As old friends got in touch with one another once more, young people came and went in the house, and Cora was invited to a number of parties. But she went right on feeling that all the boys she knew were too young and foolish, and that there would never be anybody like Tony. Not that she was suffering acutely. Her naturally sunny nature had come to the fore and she was as gay as ever. But there were little moments when she betrayed herself. And she was outwardly more excited than Melora over the fact that Tony's company was to play in San Francisco.
In one way Melora could hardly wait to be with
Tony again. And yet she could not feel that she was truly ready for marriage. Her father had said that sooner or later she would be sure. But nothing had happened to clarify her emotions. She was, as far as she could tell, right where she had always been in her feeling about Tony. And was that good enough for the serious step of marriage? She knew her father would say it wasn't.
As Christmas drew near, however, she began to feel that this time would be the test. When she saw Tony, when she talked to him again, she would know. It had to be that way. She began to move toward their reunion with more confidence.
Quent's manner toward her had softened a little and he was making his own plans for the holidays. He had agreed to squire the two girls to the opening performance of Tony's company, mainly because Cora badgered him into it. He couldn't, he pointed out, though not illnaturedly, be quite as thrilled about seeing Tony on the stage as they were. After all, he had been watching Tony perform on his own private stage for quite a few years. But there was another matter that Quent was looking forward to.
It had long been a San Francisco custom to promenade in carnival manner on New Year's Eve. Market Street had always been the scene of much gayety, with the loudest celebration centering at Market and Kearny. But this year Market, for all the rebuilding that was going on, would stand bleak and dark, while the New Year took over Fillmore and Van Ness. This would be the biggest celebration ever, if the prophets were to be believed, and he certainly didn't mean to miss it. So why not, he asked at dinner one night, all dress up in costume and go out to see the sights?
Mama said she disliked vulgar crowds and would stay home to oversee preparations for her supper party. But she supposed there was no reason why the young people couldn't have their fun. Melora wrote Tony to suggest that he come as he was in the costume of his play and join them after his New Year's Eve performance. Since Tony had gone on the stage, Mama was more prejudiced against him than ever and Melora tried to make this plan to see Tony seem casual. There was enough time to stir things up when they'd actually set a date for their marriage.
Papa's arrival—his ship was a couple of days early—solved the problem of costumes for the girls. When they opened their presents Christmas morning they found that he had brought them each a handsome Chinese robe of brocaded silk. Melora's was a golden yellow, with birds and flowers embroidered in sapphire blue, while Cora's was a delicate pale green, with a golden dragon curling down its back.
Papa had another surprise to announce on Christmas Day. He had been corresponding with Carlotta Ellis and had been to see her since he got home. She had agreed to sell him her plot of land on Russian Hill. Now that her son had gone on the stage, and she would never rebuild there, she would be happy to see the Cranbys take it over. So if they liked that, they could now build a house with a real view, instead of being tucked away low in the shadow of Nob Hill.
New Year's Eve fell on a Tuesday this year, and Tony's company was playing its first San Francisco performance the Saturday night before. Tony had written that they expected to be in early in the day and that he would come out to see Melora before rehearsal. But matters went wrong with the schedule and there was a delay about the arrival. He had only time to telephone her briefly before the late rehearsal was called.
The old tingle went through her when she heard his voice, so alive and familiar on the wire. But she was a little shy with him and hampered by the impersonal black mouthpiece. He was excited about the opening and pleased that she would see him for the first time in something that gave him a real opportunity.
"You're all to come backstage right after the performance," he told her. "I can hardly wait to see you."
Just hearing his voice made a difference. During the hours that intervened before they left for the theater, an increasing sense of sureness grew in her. She caught her father's troubled gaze upon her once or twice, but she could return his look confidently. Tonight she would really know.
BACKSTAGE
When the three walked down the main floor aisle toward their seats, Melora's anticipation increased until she was tense and a little nervous. Cora fairly sparkled with excitement, and only Quent remained unmoved. Since there was some uncertainty about what might happen tonight Melora couldn't help feeling more comfortable because Quent was there to see them through. Even though he didn't approve of Tony, he seemed to understand how she felt about him. She would miss Quent when she married and went away.
Their seats were good ones in the sixth row and Quent sat between the two girls. The house programs were rustling and Melora glanced at hers without seeing any name but Tony's.
Cora leaned toward her, tapping her own program. "There's that Mae Wentworth Tony wrote you about. She's playing the chauffeur's daughter."
Melora nodded, wishing the lump of tenseness inside her would dissolve. Why couldn't she relax and be casual about this whole thing? But then—how could she be casual when the outcome might mean that in a few weeks' time she would marry Tony and leave San Francisco for a new life? Now that the door was open she was almost afraid to step through it.
The house lights began to dim and as the theater darkened, the curtain went up with a whispering hush-hush, silencing the audience. Melora straightened in her seat. Cora leaned slightly forward, as eager as her sister.
Tony wasn't on in the first scene. There was the maid, busily swishing away with her fluffy feather duster, and Melora felt dreadfully like giggling. She could just imagine herself up there. Melora Bonner indeed!
A uniformed chauffeur was talking to the maid of the wealthy family for whom they worked, and in particular of the playboy son. That would be Tony, of course. The chauffeur announced menacingly that the young scion of the family had better keep away from his daughter or he would know the reason why. Then the principals, the stars of the company, came onstage as husband and wife, the parents of Tony. A round of applause greeted them.
As the play unfolded, Melora began to feel that it was rather silly and not very real. These people talked in an exaggerated manner and struck such ridiculous attitudes. Once she stole a look at Quent to see how he was reacting, but his expression gave nothing away. Beyond him Cora seemed absorbed.
The second scene showed an unbelievable backdrop of a garden scene, with the flower beds painted too brilliantly and the sky a flat blue with stationary clouds. Now Mae Wentworth came gracefully through the garden gate. There was no doubt that she was lovely, delicate, adorable, and quite at home before the footlights. The lines she spoke might be silly, but the audience loved her instantly.
In her role she was plainly looking for someone, as if she had a secret tryst, and when Tony came onstage she ran eagerly to meet him. Melora's hands tightened on the arms of her seat, her palms damp. This was the moment—now. That handsome, flashing young man up there on the stage was Tony. She waited for the electric moment of recognition, of conviction. But nothing happened. Mae Wentworth flung herself into his arms and Tony kissed her fervently to show how madly in love he was. He was behaving somewhat as he had that day when Melora had seen him on top of a packing box making the crowd on Van Ness do his bidding, winning them with his charm, leaping down to play the hero and rescue Alec.
On the stage all this seemed more convincing. Tony was good in his part. Around him there was some
how an aura of drama which made you believe what he wanted you to believe, whether you liked it or not.
It was plain that the feminine part of the audience adored him. He got a good hand of applause when he went off and Melora too applauded dutifully. Cora folded her own hands tightly in her lap and did not clap. Quent snorted impolitely.
When the first act was over Cora leaned across Quent to speak to her sister. "He needn't have kissed her so hard! I don't like that Mae Wentworth at all."
Melora laughed. "It's only a play, Cora. The actors don't mean what they're doing. And she's really very appealing. What did you think of Tony?"
"Oh, Tony's wonderful of course," Cora admitted readily. "It's just that I don't like the way he kissed that Wentworth person."
"Though nobody has asked me," said Quent, "I think this play is as hammy as any I've ever seen."
As the play went on, Melora began to feel uneasy. Tony was good, but he was doing something which made her uncomfortable. He was giving an exaggerated impersonation of what the son of wealthy parents might be like. Such a performance was puzzling. Why couldn't Tony have patterned his interpretation on what he knew from life? Money and position, or the lack of them, weren't all-important. Not all poor people were noble, nor rich people ignoble. Yet that, under and through the lines he spoke, seemed to be what Tony was implying.
The thing that troubled her most, however, was the fact that at no time while she watched him came a recognition of Tony as the person she loved. When the final curtain came down she wondered if she had been foolish to harbor such an expectation. It wasn't in some make-believe role that she could love Tony. It was for himself offstage. That or nothing. So perhaps the moment of recognition was simply postponed for a little while until they went back to his dressing room.
The fire and the gold Page 17
